627 Points of Nonsense
by M.N.Moore
Summary: Tales of the random and absurd, culled from all over fandom and shaped by the Gods into a story more random, insane and mind-numbingly weird than any other. Join the HP kids as they experience a life of insanity!
1. How Voldie Got His Groove Back

**627 Points of Nonsense**

A/N: Hi all! I have always been a fan of the random, the wacky and the nonsensical. My story on my old account proves that, with over three hundred reviews on a story that featured an evil waffle iron and exploding kittens. That being said, I am going to try and achieve the same randomness as before with perhaps a little more, ahem, artistic integrity. So with that in mind, I present…

**How Voldie Got His Groove Back**

The Goddess of Eccentricity was seated atop a silver cloud, watching Mythbusters and doodling. The fact that her random scribbling affected the lives of thousands of mortals made no difference to her, and in fact the thousands of screams emanating somewhere around Japan as a giant fish monster rose from the sea made no difference to her. This was, in fact, how the Mayan civilization fell and is likely to explain what the crap happened to Donald Trump's hair.

She glanced up from her sketch pad. The God of Irreverence was staring at the television and laughing maniacally as Adam shoved a pack of dynamite into a large salmon. "Now, this really has nothing to do with the myth," Jamie was saying in the background, "but we haven't blown anything up this episode. So, let's go."

"Your disciples have done well," said the Goddess to the God, closing her sketch pad on the plight of several unfortunate Japanese villagers. "But really, does that mean you have to sit here all day watching that show?"

"What else is there to do? You know, being immortal kind of has its drawbacks. You lose your edge after a while. You start running dry after starting your third or fourth plague."

"You whiner!" the Goddess sat up, stretching for a moment as she thought. "All it takes is a little creativity," she said. "Find a new way to mess with people. For example," she said, the light coming into her eyes, "we could mess with the Harry Potter fans."

"What? Oh come on, Megara," said the God. "You know that's a death sentence. And just what do you intend to do?"

"Well, people seem pretty happy with the last book. So why don't we just completely change it? Absolutely screw with people? I mean, J. K. Rowling has already made her buck so what does she care?"

Ryxlar stared at her for a moment, shaking his head slowly. "Ooooh, that is such a bad idea," he said. Then he cocked his head. "So, how are we doing it?"

Megara grinned. "All right," she pulled out a notebook and sat down. "Here's how it goes…"

**How Voldie Got His Groove Back**

Harry Potter stared at his trunk. He hadn't intended on ever returning to Hogwarts, not after the death of his beloved Headmaster. But some odd compulsion had taken over him and, despite the fact that every Death Eater in the country as well as their maniacal leader would know where he was, he had decided to go through with his plan.

Ron and Hermione thought it was a rather strange idea as well. "You know, Snape is going to be the new Headmaster," Ron would say. "I mean seriously, mate, he'll deduct house points for washing your hair."

Hermione nodded fervently. "And how are you going to defeat Voldemort if you don't find and destroy the horcruxes?" she said.

"Ah well, that's already taken care of. Turns out they were all around Little Whinging. I've already found and destroyed them all. There was this," he held up a crumpled piece of paper with a blackened center, "this thing here," he held up a strange and unidentifiable plastic object, "this right here," he held up a portrait of Martha Stewart, "and I ran over the snake last Thursday when I made a Krispy Kreme run."

Ron and Hermione had both stared. "Well, that's a convenient and completely illogical plot device," said Hermione in a huff.

"That means I get to eat meat pie and treacle tart instead of Hermione's cooking, that's good enough for me," said Ron.

Ron yelped as Hermione smacked him on the arm. "Honestly, Ron? Do you really think that's how you're going to woo me?"

"That's what the book said." Ron glanced down at a book titled, _Ways to Woo Witches that Really Don't Work, by the 99-year-old virgin._

Hermione stared at him for a long moment. "Idiot," she muttered finally, setting the tome on fire.

"Well then, let's go ahead and get going!" said Harry in an unusually cheerful manner, which led Ron to grow suspect of the herbs he'd been harvesting 'in case of emergency'.

Their arrival at the Hogwarts express was not heralded with great cheer, considering the posters all around that declared Harry 'Undesirable #1, wanted Dead or Worse'. He stepped onto the train and immediately all of the other students fell to the knees praying they would not be killed when Voldemort inevitably showed up with all his death eaters in tow to destroy the Chosen One.

"Well, at least we get our own cabin," said Harry cheerfully.

"Yeah. Sure, mate. Hey, you know what, I think I'm going to just head this way and…you know…do something else," said Ron.

"I think I'll join you! Tell the Death Eaters we said hello!" said Hermione, following Ron into another cabin, where gathered around the door dozens of students were watching and waiting for the show to begin.

"Well, that was unusually foreboding," said Harry aloud. "Enclosed space, surrounded by people who want to kill me, going to a school run by a person who definitely wants to kill me…what could possibly go wrong?"

It is important to note here that the special herbs that Harry had been experimenting with had severely muddled his judgment. As a matter of fact, at the very moment that he was making the above statement he was staring at a beautiful pink unicorn that was galloping alongside the train. The fact that the train was not moving and that the only thing beyond the window was a fat goblin in a sparkly dress should be sufficient evidence for Harry's condition.

But even in this damaged state, Harry could not help but immediately notice the person who next walked into his compartment, despite the curly blonde wig he wore or the school robes.

"VOLDE—"

"Dina!" said the figure in a falsetto tinged with a faint hissing. "My names Voldina!" The Dark Lord lunged towards Harry, murmuring under his breath. "I'm not going to kill you just yet, Harry Potter, so just shut your trap."

"YOU MURDEROUS MONSTER! YOU KILLED MY—"

"Yes, yes…My name is Harry Potter, you keel my parents, prepare to die," said Voldemort, rolling his eyes. "You know if you focus on the negative we're never going to get over this."

"The neg—what the hell, man?" Harry began to reach for his wand and Voldemort reached out for his wrist.

"Okay, okay, listen. Kid, I want you dead, you want me dead, so we're about even right? Trouble is I have to get a few classes here at Hogwarts. Back in the day you didn't need certain classes to get into the Evil Wizards society," he said bitterly, "but now that bitch Grindelwald says oh no, you have to have at least one Arithmancy course, maybe one in muggle studies just so we can see you're well-rounded." He waved his arms animatedly. "Ahh, ahh, my boyfriend put me in jail!" he snickered, shaking his head. "Pansy."

"So, what? Snape just let you enroll here? When you've killed the family of half the students?"

"Please, Potter. I rarely kill people myself. You're special," he said with a creepy smile. "Anyway, I'm enrolling under the name of Voldina Evilpants."

Harry was quiet for a moment. "What the crap? Seriously? Voldina Evilpants?"

"Hey, Snape thought it was cute," said Voldemort.

"And nobody is supposed to notice the freakishly tall, red-eyed, noseless and fanged psychopath? In a blonde wig?"

"I've got a charm on me," he said, "the fact that you can tell it's me is just further proof of our weird connection…thing. So here's the deal Potter," he whipped out his wand quickly and put some sort of spell on Harry. "As long as I don't try to kill you, you can't tell anybody who I am.'

Harry felt a moment of panic and tried to scream, but he felt his throat constrict. Voldemort laughed, shaking his head. "Told you," he said with a laugh.

"Potter," the voice hissed. "Potter, I will kill you….I will have your flesh. I will drink your blood, Potter…"

He heard the voice through the darkness, stirring slightly.

"Potter, you will diiiiiieeeee…"

"Wha-!" Harry jumped up, extending his wand. He heard a faint, hissing laugh.

"Told you he'd fall for it!" said Voldemort, again in the falsetto. He sat on the edge of Ron's bed, and the two were giving each other high-fives.

"Yeah, Harry's a real tool!" said Ron.

"Holy crap," mumbled Harry, falling back onto his bed.

It was nearing Christmas, and Voldemort had still gone unnoticed. The fact that it seemed to go over everybody's head when Snape did everything that Voldina commanded him was something that Harry no longer paid attention to. In fact, he had stopped paying attention to most of the things that went on at Hogwarts.

Hermione had given up on Ron, who to Harry's horror had suddenly fallen for the new Slytherin girl.

The lowest moment had occurred when, several days before, Voldemort had cornered Harry in the library.

"I told you to put that wand away, boy," said Voldemort. "I'm not going to kill you just yet. Actually I had a question for you. Does Ron…well, does Ron like me? I mean, like me, like me?"

"Does he…..ohhh…oh, eeeewwww," Harry said, his skin crawling.

"Hey, I'm not, you know, gay or anything. I was just…well, it's kind of flattering. And…well, having a boyfriend would help keep my cover."

"Ron is my best friend. He's a Gryffindor. And he's about fifty years younger than you are. Do you have any idea how much creepy there is here?"

"It's a new age, Potter, get over it. I mean, back in the day if an evil warmongering wizard like myself wanted a concubine or five…thousand, he'd just imperius the crap out of them and there you have it, instant harem. At least I have the decency to give them a choice."

"Decency? You murdered a couple of twenty-one years old and then you tried to destroy their infant son," said Harry.

"JEEZ! Will you get over that!" said Voldemort. "I'm trying to talk about one thing here, and all you can do is bitch about your dead parents."

"…………you are such an asshole."

But despite his protestations, the next Hogsmeade trip had come along and Ron had gone with Voldina. Harry now had severe doubts about his friend's intelligence. "It was amazing, it's like she's magic," said Ron in awe when they had returned. "The entire time we were there all the death eaters and dementors and things that were prowling around left us completely alone. Did you notice that Harry?"

"Gee, not really, considering I was running around the entire time under my invisibility cloak trying not to have my soul sucked out of me," he said.

"Hmm? What was that? I was thinking of Voldina. You know, she has the strangest accent. You ever wonder where she gets it?"

"Practicing evil magic and half-transforming his...herself into a snake?"

"What was that?"

"Oh, nothing," said Harry.

Later on Luna came to him. She was wearing a turban that was wriggling with something Harry was certain he didn't want to know about. "Oh, so you see him too?" he asked dryly, when she turned her gaze on Voldemort.

"The bitch. She's trying to move in on my territory," she said airily. "But never mind. I have the nargles, and they will obey me. Soon they will move in and take Voldina Evilpants down. And that man will be mine."

"Ron? You are in love with Ron?"

"Oh, no," she said. "Professor Snape. Isn't he dreamy? They say that greasy hair is a sure sign that the Goldspats whisper their secrets in your ear at night."

With a sorrowful sigh Harry began to bang his head on the table. "Why? Why? Why? Don't you ever just want to bash your own brains in on something?" he asked Luna.

"Yes, but then who'd clean it all up? Brains are runny and gooey, and make an awful mess."

"Oh, God," said Harry, laying his head down.

Christmas at Hogwarts was always a joyous occasion. Joyous until you stick Harry Potter, Voldemort, the remaining Weasleys, Hermione, Draco Malfoy and Professor Snape all together under one roof.

Voldemort was already in the common room with Ron when Harry woke up on Christmas morning. A pile of sparkling packages lay next to the couch. Harry opened then one by one as Ron and Voldemort made googly eyes at each other. Ginny came in later and sat down beside Harry. The two had not yet reconciled completely, partially because Harry was in a deep state of disturbance thanks to the bad thoughts that seemed to stay stuck inside his head.

She kissed him on top of his head, and he made his way through the gifts, smiling at each one. He had received a sweater from Mrs. Weasley with Voldemort's face knitted on the front, crossed out by a giant red X. He pulled it on proudly, eliciting a scowl from Voldemort. The Lupins, newly married and soon to be parents, had sent him a basket of rawhide chews to use with his new godchild. Other gifts included useful items for defeating the dark lord or, alternatively, travel necessities such as a build-your-own-toilet.

Fred and George Weasley had sent him a pineapple. A talking pineapple.

"What the heck is that supposed to be for?" said Voldemort.

"Pineapple Upside-Down Cake?" suggested Ginny.

"Nnoooo! I don't want to be a pastry!" cried the pineapple.

"Crap, that's going to be annoying," said Harry.

Later that evening they were all sitting around the table eating Christmas dinner. Voldemort was watching Snape, who glared at Harry, who was glaring at Voldemort, who was getting googly eyes from Ron, who was being watched angrily by Hermione, who was being watched wistfully by Draco Malfoy, who was also watching every female at the table as if searching for an opportunity.

"Let's sing Christmas carols!" said Voldemort at the end of the meal.

"Eh?" said Harry.

"Great idea, isn't it Professor?" said Ron.

"I. Detest. Christmas Carols," said Professor Snape.

"Then let's sing something else. I know! How about that song from Sweeney Todd! You know the one! Let's sing it, Professor!"

"I absolutely hate you," said Snape.

But before he could protest any further, a pirate came swinging down from one of the curtains. He landed on top of the table, pulling a sword from his belt. "Nyaargh! A special treat, from Cap'n Jack Sparrow! Who wants to sing?"

"Seriously, Megara?" said Ryxlar. "Seriously?"

"What? I write about a talking pineapple and that's whats too random? You saw Sweeney Todd. As a matter of fact, you gave me this idea."

"Yes, and I think it is right and necessary. Continue, please."

"Pretty women," sang Snape and Jack Sparrow in unison, "at their mirrors,"

"In their gardens,"

"letter-writing,"

"Flower-picking,"

"Weather watching!"

"How they make a man sing, proof of heaven as you're living…"

"Pretty women! Ah, Pretty women!"

"Why is the pineapple singing?" shouted Jack Sparrow. "The bleedin' fruit is singin' 'ere and I ain't even had any rum!"

"Why don't we cut up the thing and have smoothies?" said Voldemort. "I'm very distressed that the fruit has ruined this song."

"It's my pineapple," said Harry, who had developed a strange fondness for the thing. He picked it up and cradled it. "Don't you dare kill it, Vollllllll-dina," he said, throat constricting as he almost said Voldemort's name.

"So what?" said Draco. "You have a pineapple baby?"

"Well, you have a penguin baby," said Harry, gesturing to the creature that was waddling up and down the table.

"You leave Pablo out of this!" said Draco as he reached out for the foul fowl, pulling it close to his chest. "Yes, that's right Pablo, daddy won't let anybody hurt you."

"Artistic integrity, isn't that right Megara?"

She stared at him for a long moment. "Hey, you laughed. You know you did."

"I'm not debating it. I was just saying..."

"In your story, Harry is dating the boy version of Ginny."

"That's just one chapter. And you helped me come up with that idea. So, you can't say a damn thing."

Megara stared at Ryxlar for a moment. "Damn you," she said, in a strangely cheerful tone. "I still say you're the nerdy one."

"Riiiiiiiiight..."

Harry Potter had begun to think that graduation day would never come. His fingers had begun to twitch in anticipation of the confrontation with Voldemort that he knew would be coming very soon. Dressed in his finest robes, he gathered with the others in the great hall and waited for Snape to ascend to the top of the platform. He remembered with perfect clarity the sorting hat being placed on his head so many years ago.

Now, he noticed with surprise that another chair was set out. It occurred to him that in all his years at Hogwarts he'd never heard anything about the graduation ceremony or what it entailed. Now Snape rose and stood before them all, holding an object wrapped in paper.

"I would say more here today, but I hate you all. Most of you will die at the hand of the Dark Lord and I will gleefully dance on the graves of most of you. So without further ado, you will come and sit on this chair and put on the Graduation Sock.

The Graduation Sock was, not surprisingly, a dingy gray sock that when put on the wearer's foot determined if the person was ready for graduation.

For several years, standardized testing had been commonplace at Hogwarts, and yet when the sock had been ruled out as a fair means of determining the eligibility of one to graduate there had been an outcry amongst the elders, leading to the half and half rule. One half of the graduation requirement was an appropriate score on the N.E.W.T.s, and the other requirement was an archaic foot-based judgement system.

Harry was not far behind Voldemort, using the last name of 'Evilpants', and Hermione was one of the few who stood between them. Tuning out Hermione's incessant worrying that she had not properly cared for her feet the night before and that therefore the sock would deny her graduation, Harry focused on the (fake)blonde curls bobbing not far in front of him.

Time seemed to surge forward, and suddenly Voldemort was sitting on the chair pulling on the sock.

It hemmed and hawed for a long moment, and cried out "Graduate!" Voldemort stood, eyes tearing. "This is the happiest moment of my--"

"AVADA KEDAVRA!" Harry burst forward, hitting Voldemort square in the chest with the killing curse. Voldemort fell to the ground, all splayed out and weird looking. People gasped in astonishment as all of a sudden Voldina disappeared, leaving You-Know-Who all dead and mouldering on the ground wearing a curly blonde wig.

"SEE? IT'S VOLDEMORT! VOL-DE-MORT! HOW THE HELL DID NOBODY FIGURE THAT OUT! COME ON!" Harry gestured at the audience, waving his arms maniacally.

"Oh," said Ron and Hermione. After a moment Ron turned to her, shrugging. "Ah, well. I'm going to go kill myself tonight. Wanna make out?"

Everybody spoke in low voices. "That was fairly anticlimactic," said Professor McGonagall. "So…what now?"

Luna Lovegood looked around at everybody, and quietly made her way to the center of the platform where Voldemort lay dead. She poked him with her big toe, frowning slightly. Then suddenly she pulled out something from inside her robes—what looked to be a fairy, but squirming and green and scaly, and far less cute.

"BAM! IT'S A NARGLE, BITCHES! NOW WHO'S LOONEY!" she cried out. The creature flitted out of her grasp and a swarm of them ejected themselves from the turban on her head, attacking the crowd in general and taking off with Professor Snape to who-knew-where.

"Well," said Harry with a cough to his friends.

"Well," they responded.

"I didn't expect it to end like this. So…wanna go get trashed?"

"Yeah, might as well."

THE END

"Okay, that one bit at the end wasn't even my idea," said Megara.

"Luna poked Voldemort with her toe."

"Wouldn't you?" said Megara. "Anyway, if we're going to thoroughly confuse people we have to do better than that. So here, you take this cantaloupe, I'm going to take this flyswatter, we'll meet the Mythbusters at the cantina from Star Wars, and THEN we'll have a story!"

And thus the Goddess of Eccentricity and the God of Irreverence went off to do their work. And the world would never be the same again.


	2. Dude, Where's My Scar?

A/N: Tee hee. I am going to have far too much fun with this, as I rightfully should. :\/

**627 Points of Nonsense**

**Chapter Dos-i-doe**

Megara and Ryxlar, the Goddess of Eccentricity and the God of Irreverence (in that order) were baking cookies one day. Those who are not familiar with the grand church of Nonsenseology may not understand the grandiosity of this act. There is a legend, that before there was anything at all there was the God. And he wanted cookies. So with the aid of the Goddess he gathered the great dough of the cosmos together, and baked it in an oven at three-hundred fifty degrees for ten minutes. And they were chocolate-chip and they were good. Sorry, make that goooooooood. Mmmmmm…

And seeing that what he had made was good the God desired a frosty beverage, and it was thus that he created cows. And they went moooooooo…

This is, of course, the big bake theory.

Ba-dum-KSSH!

This particular day though, Megara and Ryxlar were not overly concerned with the new reality that they had created. As it was, Megara was in the habit of creating new realities on a daily basis, and often found herself bored with reality altogether. As it was she had recently discovered that she preferred screwing with the rules of existence. "Mortals are picky creatures," she would say with a sigh. "After a few hundred thousand years with the same rules of gravity, day in and day out, you'd think the boring little buggers would be ready for a change."

"Well, you see Megara," said Ryxlar, "the problem is that humans aren't adapted to live without gravity. They tend to die. Horrible deaths. Stuck in the blades of airplanes or hurled into the icy nether regions of space."

"Doesn't sound too bad to me," she said in a huff, laying her head down.

"Well, listen," said Ryxlar. "You remember that stuff we did to Harry Potter?"

Megara's head raised slightly. "Yeah?"

"Well, how about we go back? Mess around a little?"

"Are you sure? I wouldn't want to do anything wrong or offensive," she said. Ryxlar stared at her for a moment, then suddenly burst into wild laughter.

"Yeah, right, that's believable."

"Ah, well," said Megara. She cracked her knuckles. "Let the games begin."

**Dude, Where's My Scar?**

It was midafternoon when Harry Potter awoke to find himself sprawled amongst the bushes in front of the Burrow, being alternatively pecked by chickens and nibbled at by lawn gnomes. He groaned as he sat up too quickly, his hand darting to cradle his forehead.

It felt like his brains were making a desperate attempt to escape through his skull. As a matter fact, this is precisely the cause of most hangovers. Brains, after a good drunken buzz, often find that returning to the sober state of mind is rather boring. So many brains, impulsive little buggers that they are, will try and make a break for it through the region of the frontal lobe.

This easily explains what eventually happens to frat boys, Slytherins, and Irishmen.

As it was, for several minutes Harry found himself trying to keep his brains locked firmly locked in his skull. When he was finally ready to move he looked down at the pale-skinned redhead laying beside him.

"Sweety," he murmured. "Rise and shine puffin,"

"Ehrn," Ron groaned. "Whadya call me puffin for?"

Harry shrieked in horror. Naturally he had assumed that if he was going to wake up next to a naked, vivacious redhead he would at least have the decency to do so with the one female member of the Weasley family. Ron, finding that he was just as icked out by his own situation, jumped up and turned to stare at his friend.

"We didn't…I mean, you didn't…I mean all this time defeating the dark lord and all, I'd have known if you were…"

"Ron? I am not going to suddenly and miraculously turn gay. I wouldn't do so even for that pirate who showed up at Hogwarts, and that Sparrow is one sexy bastard."

"…………..somehow that doesn't comfort me, Harry." The two dressed quickly, whistling loudly as if to maintain a casual atmosphere. Finally they turned back to face one another. And each noticed something strange about the other.

"Where the hell did your scar go?" said Ron, looking at the now bare spot on Harry's forehead.

"Where the hell did you get that mutant mustache?" asked Harry, indicating the large and walrus-esque red bush that had sprouted overnight on Ron's upper lip.

"………..what the hell happened last night?" they said in unison.

Hearing a crash inside the house Harry and Ron went running. A moment of searching revealed that the sound had emanated from the kitchen, and entering they found themselves face to ectoplasm with a figure that they thought they would never see again.

"Hello, ickle Ronniekins! Looking rather fleshy today, I see! And you Harry, I thought for sure you'd be coming to join me. I'm having the time of my life! Or, afterlife I should say!"

Fred Weasley was floating in the middle of the kitchen, the image of his old self except for the fact that he was rather gray and translucent. He hovered closer to Harry and Ron. "Hey, I wanted to thank you for pulling me out of that dreary place. I thought the Great Beyond would be much more interesting, but it gets to be a bore after a while. Debate with Aristotle, art class with Da Vinci, hey let's go play a harp. Turns out Ghandi didn't like my rendition of 'Peace for our People'," he said with a snicker.

"Aren't you dead?" Ron blurted out after a long moment.

"Not anymore. Thanks to you two," said Fred, reaching out to pat Ron rather roughly on the cheek.

"What did we do?" asked Harry.

"Why, you don't remember? A little voodoo, black magic, hocus pocus. Danced around naked under the full moon, summoned the spirits?"

"At least that explains the naked part," said Harry under his breath.

They heard a sound from the stairway and turned. George appeared after a moment, eyes half-closed as he made his way into the kitchen. He scratched himself inappropriately and came down the creaking stairs. He made his way past them and grabbed a cookie and a butterbeer, nodding at them as he made his way through.

"Morning bro," said Fred.

"Eh, Fred," said George, turning around to make his way back upstairs.

He had almost disappeared again when he stopped and turned around. "Fred? Hey, what are you doing alive for?"

"Who said I was alive? I take offence to that, you lousy air breather."

"Whatever. What are you doing not quite as dead as you were last time I checked?"

"You've been doing a lousy job of pranking," said Fred with a ghostly frown. "Very bad. Here Ron and Harry have been laying out there in the yard in their knickers and you didn't so much as glue Ron's hand to Harry's bum. You've lost your touch, Georgie-boy, and it's going to take my divine influence to get it back."

George stared at his dead brother for a moment. "Sounds like a plan to me." He looked Fred up and down. "You look kind of weird."

"You've been looking your own ugly face in the mirror too long," said Fred. "Makes me glad I'm off mouldering somewhere. At least my ghost gets to be as handsome as ever. Although I must admit, we're aging rather well, aren't we?"

Harry and Ron watched this spectacle in awe, finally excusing themselves when they spotted an abandoned piece of trash that indicated they'd spent the night before at a party at Luna's place.

When they arrived it was to find that the house that had used to occupy the property had been replaced. Namely, with a large blackened crater in the middle of the ground. Luna stood at the center of it, making her bed. "Are you all right?" cried out Harry.

"Oh, yes. A little redecorating, that's all," said Luna. She glanced at Ron and gasped in excitement. "Oh, that nargle on your lip is coming along marvelously!" she said. "Might I touch it?"

"Err…that's all right, Luna," said Ron, laughing nervously. "It…bites."

"Oh. Ah yes, I had almost forgotten. Nose nargles are the most vicious of all. Tell me Ron, can you feel it's toes wiggling about in your nostrils?"

"No, just some snot. And this knut," he said, pulling out a bronze coin. "And this burned copy of a Backstreet Boys album from 2001," he said, pulling out a silver disc, "and Professor Snape's phone number. That's written on his picture. This picture of him wearing silver shorts. Eeew…." Ron shuddered visibly.

"Oh, that's mine," said Luna. "I must have put it in your nose by accident," she said, shoving the offending picture back up her left nostril.

"Now that that's settled—sort of, Luna, you have to tell us what happened last night. When we woke up, my scar was missing. I need to know where it went to."

"Hmm. Now isn't that curious?" she said, tilting her head to one said. "If you really want it back you could try slamming your face on things. Ooh! If you wanted to try something different you could slam your face on somebody else's face. You could have a Hermione shaped scar!"

"Megara, I've noticed a disturbing trend in your story lately. Why is it that all your characters seem obsessed with slamming their heads on things?"

"I don't know," said Megara, slamming her head against random bits of shrubbery. "A compulsion I guess?"

"No, I'd much rather just find out what happened with the old one," said Harry.

"Hmm. Well then, the last thing I remember was you two talking to Professor Snape. He was talking about some potion that he used to make when he was younger. I don't know exactly what he was referring to, he kept making hand gestures and giggling.

"Snape giggling?" said Harry.

"He was probably being tickled by nargles," said Ron.

"Oh, yes, definitely," said Luna with a sigh. "Professor Snape has definitely been touched by the delicate hands of the nargles. And that will be a mighty nargle for your face when it is grown, Ron. Treat it kindly. Don't drink hot coffee and don't sleep on your face."

They left Luna soon after, Ron trying to escape the tutorial she tried to give them on caring for their new pet. Snape, who had lived in dingy place in the bad part of town, had sold his old house and now lived on a commune with a lot of dirty hippies.

Though he had not changed his morals, refused to sing kumbayah, ate his animals bloody and raw and detested life of all forms, one thing had gained him admittance to this elitist commune.

Hair as greasy and unwashed, the hippies surmised, as this man's must hold some sort of special powers. And they were right.

Harry and Ron entered Snape's cabin and immediately sat beside the fire. Snape himself, cloaked in his usual black and giving them the stare of neverending hatred, sat down across from them.

"You have come to ask a question," he said. "And if you wish me to sing again, I can promise you that a quick and hasty death for the both of you can be arranged."

"Ah…no. I just wanted to know what happened to my scar," he said.

Snape raised his eyebrow. "Your scar?" He shook his head. "I know nothing of this. Fools, leave me be. I was in the middle of Season Three of Lost when you disturbed me."

"Perhaps I can explain a few things."

The voice was booming and dark, intense and tenfold more forbidding than the voice of Snape himself.

"Who are you?" cried Harry, sensing this evil presence as if out of a bad dream.

"Do you deign to speak to these pestilent brats?" shouted Snape.

"I does. I mean, I deign. I do. Oh, bloody hell, just turn around," the voice cried out.

Snape began to shiver, and without saying another word he began to turn around. Harry was reminded suddenly of Professor Quirrel in his first year at Hogwarts, and the face of evil that had appeared out of the back of his head.

Now he was suddenly faced with a thing far darker and more terrifying. Snape's greasy hair shifted, and out of the darkness eyes and a gaping maw appeared to him. For the first time Harry and Ron saw the true secret of Snape's greasy and unwashed hair. It began to move again, and the source of the voice was clear.

"You wished to know the secrets of immortality. And I told you. The spirit must be willing. A sacrifice must be made. I removed the mark of evil from your face, and so gave you the means to resurrect a single soul. That soul was Fred Weasley."

"Wait. Hold it. You mean the ghost of my dead brother was brought back by my friend's skin malformation?" said Ron.

"Well. That's the gist of it."

"Well…if I sacrifice my mustache, who could I bring back?" asked Ron.

Snape's hair began to hem and haw, bristling in agitation at the ends as it thought. "I would say you'd get a pretty good deal off of that thing. It's a beaut. In fact, I'd say it…ah, yes, it's part nargle. I'll tell you what, you part with that thing and go dance naked in a field tonight."

"I don't know why they're always getting naked," said Megara. "Don't ask me."

"I didn't intend to," said Ryxlar.

"What about Snape's hair? Do you think I went a little too far?"

Ryxlar shrugged. "When don't you? If it makes people spew chocolate milk on their computer screens, it's good. If it makes them pee their pants, it's really good. If it makes them take off all their clothes and go dance naked in the street singing praise hallelujah….well, then you probably need to take it down a notch."

"Most of the people who are willing to read this story already do that anyway," said Megara.

"Ah. You're right. Carry on."

Ron and Harry were standing naked in a field, which is what they usually did on Saturday nights, but the sudden absence of Ron's mustache made him feel naked in a completely new way which saddened him.

"My lip feels so bare," he said. "I miss the little bugger."

"Let's talk about that later. Snape's hair said we need to start dancing at the stroke of midnight. So come on Ron. Do the Macarena!"

"Well, Harry, I prefer to do the Forbidden Dance."

"How does that one go?"

"I cannot tell you. It is forbidden."

They readied themselves as midnight approached and when it did they burst forth in a variety of shimmies and shakes that left Ginny and Hermione, who were watching from the top floor of the burrow, with no doubt that their men were straight.

The sacred ritual went on for almost an hour, when as the Hair had predicted a great spire of fire rose from the ground. They fell back in awe, and as they rose gasped to see who stood there.

Dumbledore was watching them, as serene and jolly as he had ever been in life. His hands whole, a healthy version of what he had always been.

"Professor," Harry gasped. "You've come back. I have so much to say, to thank—"

Dumbledore rose one hand, and Harry fell silent. He felt his heart pound as his great mentor, his most trusted advisor and friend readied himself to speak.

"Twas brillig, and the slithy toves, did gyre and gimble in the wabe," said the old man.

"What the hell?"

"And has though slain the Jabberwock? Come to my arms my beamish boy!" he raised both arms, and Harry felt his head spin.

"Do you know what's going on?" said Ron.

"I have no clue. Do you professor?" said Harry.

Dumbledore shrugged. "And the mome raths outgrabe."

"So he can only speak the lines of the Jabberwocky, you see," said Ryxlar.

"You know, sometimes you can surprise me. You can be as delightfully evil as I am. I am so proud of you, Ryxlar," said Megara.

"I try my best," he said.

"You know, the other Gods and Goddesses are a little freaked out by what we're doing here," said Megara confidentially. "I think they're going to try and do one of those interventions. You know, tell us that we're a danger to ourselves and to mankind, try and makes us feel remorse for our actions."

"Well, they can try," said Ryxlar. "Now, Megara, what are we going to do with this next? I mean, Dumbledore and Fred are both back from the dead, Snape's hair has a mind of it's own, and we didn't even hear from the talking pineapple."

"Oh, I have plans for the pineapple," said Megara. "You can believe that."

And so saying, she wandered off into the darkness, where she was immediately distracted by something shiny.


	3. The Snapetrix

**627 Points of Nonsense**

**A/N: **I am trying to see just how random this can be while still maintaining some semblance of actual writing ability. I am very amused by the way things are going and the very evil Ryxlar has been throwing me some pretty wild suggestions. So with this in mind, I give you…

**The Snapetrix**

Harry Potter was drinking a shot of Firewhisky and hanging around in his Snitch-emblazoned boxer shorts, contemplating his luck that Ron was going to be out late with Hermione. The only thing that might have made his evening better was if Ginny hadn't had that mysterious project to work on, but…oh, well, that was something else altogether. He took a sip of his drink and looked out the window of his flat, listening to the screams and shouts of the pedestrians below as a Dead Fred and George (who was still amongst the land of the living) wrought havoc on the town.

He was finishing his food and about to wash it down with some of the fudge that Mrs. Weasley had sent in her daily care package when he heard a sharp wrapping at the door.

"Er…coming!" Harry shouted, jumping up off the couch and fishing around for the robes that he'd stripped out of earlier.

"Let me in….Fifi."

Harry stopped short. "How do you know that name?" said Harry nervously, dressing quickly and going to stand beside the door, wand raised anxiously.

"I know much about your life. Your parents died when you were young. After that you went to live with abusive and neglectful relatives, and eventually went to the magic school of Hogwarts where you learned an evil wizard called Voldemort wanted you dead. It was because of you that Voldemort was destroyed. Is that not so, Fifi?"

"Stop calling me that," snapped Harry. "And anybody can look up all that stuff on Wizardpedia."

"Then how do I know that you also go by the name of…Fifi?"

"Jesus." Harry pulled open the door to reveal Kingsley Shacklebolt standing there dressed in long leather robes and wearing sunglasses despite the fact that it was night. Behind him there stood Draco Malfoy, Hermione and Ron both, and Ginny, all wearing black and with their eyes covered.

"Hey, listen, it was just one drink," said Harry, throwing his hands up. "I really don't think you need to take me to rehab. Seriously, no no no…"

"That isn't what this about," said Kingsley. "I have come here to tell you a story, Fifi. Or is that not what you call yourself on the Wizarding Web?"

"What? Yeah, like on that one website. I mean, it was Ginny's idea, you don't have to keep calling me that."

"Fifi, the world that you know does not exist. You exist in an elaborate simulation that is controlled by Professor Snape's hair. This simulation keeps you locked in an alternate reality while it keeps you all locked up in little gerbil cages. That way it can harness your magical energy. Of course, world domination is its ultimate goal."

"So, you mean to tell me that I spent all my time worrying about defeating Voldemort when I should have been trying to figure out a way to get Snape to rinse and repeat?"

"Eh." Kingsley shrugged. "We thought it was more fun this way."

"And you, Ginny?" said Harry.

Ginny stepped toward him. She was wearing a pleather catsuit and her bright red hair had been cropped short. She pulled her glasses up and looked him straight in the eye. "You know," she said breathlessly, "I never stopped to think of what would happen if my butt started itching when I picked this outfit out this morning," she said.

"Just remember," said Hermione, bowing her head. "There is no butt. If there is no butt there is no butt to itch."

"Well, that disturbs me beyond all reason." Ron began stroking the mustache that he had regrown. Besides that and the glasses he also wore a jaunty beret on the top of his head, something that reminded him vaguely of a television show he had once seen on muggle television.

Draco stood toward the back of the group, watching the rest with a look of revulsion. Harry glanced over at him, noticing for the first time that his arch-rival seemed somehow forced into cooperation with the rest of them.

"And what's he doing here?" Harry asked of Kingsley.

"Not my choice, Potter, so don't you think you can order me around like you're everybody's little captain," he spat. "As if I want to be stuck here with a bunch of idiots and their mudbloaaahahaghh!" Draco began to seizure as he halted on the last word.

"Uh, should you help him?" asked Harry.

"No, he'll be fine in a moment." Hermione glanced over at him as he struggled to his feet, brushing out the flames on his smoldering hair. "That was a little improvement I made before I removed him from the Snapetrix. He cannot say certain words without being electrocuted by the chip that I implanted in his brain."

"And you'll pay for it you filthy mudbl—ha, see, you think I can't control myself," said Draco nastily.

"Oh, well. Hey Draco, want to hear that joke I made up about your mother?" said Hermione.

"Shut up you filthy mudbalooooaaargh!" Draco fell to the floor again in wild spasms.

"Is there any reason for that?" said Harry when he finally stopped twitching.

Hermione looked thoughtful for a moment. "It amuses me. Does that count for anything?"

"Well then," said Kingsley after a long moment. "What is it going to be, Fifi? Will you seek truth or will you live forever under the greasy tendrils of Snape's hair?" He reached out his hand. "The cherry flavored one for truth. The vomit flavored one makes this all go away."

"Well you didn't make that fair, did you?" said Harry.

"Nobody said the good guys couldn't be assholes, Fifi," said Kingsley.

"Okay, I'm taking the cherry one but you need to stop calling me that," said Harry.

And with that he swallowed the Bean and the world around him disappeared.

He awakened in a small cage, without even the comfort of his Quidditch themed underpants. He was cold. All around them there were other naked witches wizards. After several moments a ship in the form of a giant Pineapple came floating into view. A claw much like those of the arcade games he used to play as a child came down and ripped open the door, then wrapped around him and pulled him up into the cabin.

He landed in a slimy mass on the floor. Hermione and Ginny immediately ran over. "Oh, you were right," said Ginny.

"Hey, transforming into Harry made me notice certain things," said Hermione. "You're a lucky girl, Ginny," she said, poking her in the side.

"AHEM!" Ron came over, shooing the girls away. "And STAY back!" he shouted. "Hey, they weren't kidding," he muttered to himself as he threw a blanket over Harry and took him into the next room.

A few days later, Kingsley visited Harry. "I'm taking you to visit the oracle today," he said shortly. "Make yourself look pretty, Fifi. "We're going back into the Snapetrix."

"Wait a second…what? All that crap to get me out of the Snapetrix and now you're putting me back in? Isn't that a bit illogical?"

"Well usually there would be a lot more introduction and I would challenge you to a duel in a large white room. But I guess I just kind of figured you'd wing the whole fighting thing."

"Yeah. Okay, then," he got ready. Passing Draco on the deck he called out, "Hey, Hermione sure looks great today doesn't she!"

"Filthy mudbloauurrggurgle…"

The reentry to the Snapetrix was like nothing else he'd ever known. The world was suddenly different even though it was exactly the same. "I used to eat there," he said, gesturing at a Chinese place.

"Uh, yeah, you still do. We had takeout from there last night."

"Listen Fifi, if you never stop gabbing we'll never get there. And here, take this. It's your ticket out of the Snapetrix." He handed each person in the group a pineapple.

"…the hell?' asked Harry.

"All right, here we are," said Kingsley. They approached a tall building. Making their way up, Harry glanced over at Ginny.

"What did the oracle tell you?" he asked.

"That I would one day be ruler of all nargles," said Ginny.

"Nargles? Oh, wait. Is the oracle…"

"Hello, Harry! Do come in won't you?" said Luna, appearing at the door. She yanked him inside by the arm and slammed the door after him. "Here. A cookie!"

He took the large, blackened lump that he assumed had once been a dessert. "Mmmm…" he said, mimicking taking a bite until he turned away and tossed it out the window. The sound of it crashing into their car and Kingsley's angry voice made him cringe.

"I have much to tell you. Do you want the long version or the short one?"

"Uh…the short version I guess?"

"Oh. Okay!" She put her hands to her head and closed her eyes in concentration. "You will die."

"What?" he jumped up. "Okay, long version, long version!"

"You will die of old age, a happy and content man. Of course, you are the Chosen One destined to overthrow the Snapetrix."

"Phew." Harry sat back down. "As if I wouldn't be the Chosen One. I'm always the Chosen One. My face is the bullseye of Fate's dartboard."

"There, there. Here." She reached up into her turban and pulled out a small creature. "Have a nargle. They're blueberry flavored."

Upon leaving the oracle Harry felt like he had learned absolutely nothing.

But he was soon to have another encounter of a much more sinister kind, because walking down the street was Professor Snape in a typically nasty mood, and spotting Harry across the way he leapt through the air and landed beside him.

"We meet again, Potter, ha ha!"

"Are you a pirate now?" Harry asked.

"Er…no? What do you mean?"

"The way you said that. We meet again, ha ha. You're either a pirate or you're Robin Hood. Nobody talks like that these days."

"Mr. Potter, I would love to talk to you longer but my hair is commanding me to kill you," said Snape.

"Right then," said Harry. "Ha!" He whipped out his pineapple. Snape stared at it.

"Are we going to make smoothies?" he asked.

"Nooo! Don't blend me!"

"Ah, crud, it's that talking pineapple again," said Harry, sticking the thing out at arm's length. "I really ought to name you."

"My name is Francoise!" the pineapple said gleefully.

"But you have a Jamaican accent," said Harry.

"DEATH TO YOU ALL!" cried out Snape's hair.

"This is scary! Let's go back to the other place!"

And they appeared quite suddenly back in reality…sort of."Francoise, I didn't know you were a Magical Talking Pineapple of Teleportation," said Harry.

"I am. I also sing show tunes! Lalalallalaa…..AND ALL THAT JAZZ!"

"……this is going to get annoying very quickly."

Kingsley walked into the room suddenly. "Well, we're boned," he said. "Listen Fifi, that encounter ruins my plans of a sneak attack…thing."

"Aren't you supposed to be a master strategist?" said Harry.

"Only in the game of Guess Who?. I am great at that game."

"So what do we do now?" asked Ginny.

"We visit Her. The architect."

The woman lived in an ivory tower, surrounded by mounds of paper and abandoned notebooks. Harry approached her with a sense of overwhelming wonder, the woman who was responsible for every heartbreak and every magical moment in his enchanted life. It was a place where the dead were living again through the power of imagination, and where reality was suspended.

J.K. Rowling stared at him with a kindly look on her face. Soon the other characters gathered around also, good and bad, all come once and for all with this climactic meeting with their maker.

"So seriously, what the hell?" said Harry.

Jo frowned. "What? You don't like the way I ended the series?"

"Ah, gee, let me think. No. You killed off all the really cool characters."

"Hell yeah!" said Tonks.

"And Snape was in love with my mom? Are you kidding?"

"Didn't you think it was sweet?" she said innocently. "He died looking into Lily's eyes."

"Even I think that was wrong," said Lily.

"Yeah. Gross on so many levels," said James.

"I actually thought it was kind of funny," said Sirius.

"What the hell do you know? You fell through a freaking curtain to your death. You didn't even leave a body behind."

"Enough!" said J.K. "Listen, I know I couldn't please everybody. But there was a reason for everything."

"Dumbledore. Gay. Really, J.K. Rowling? You think so?"

Dumbledore shrugged. "And the mome wraths outgrabe," he said.

"What he means by that is, how the hell didn't you figure that one out yourself?" Grindelwald put his arm around Dumbledore. "I mean, seriously. The dude always looks fabulous, doesn't he?"

"And I eventually name our child Hugo?" said Ron. "Are you kidding? That one HAS to be Hermione's idea."

"I had a great-uncle Hugo, thank you very much, and I was extremely fond of him," she said pointedly.

"Hey, you don't even get the worst of it." Dead Fred stepped up. "Yeah, just kill one. That makes sense. Oh yeah, the funniest and sexiest two members of the ENTIRE Weasley clan, let's just blow one of them up so the other can become an alcoholic-manic-depressive."

"Well, I didn't need you to croak, I could have done that on my own," said George.

"Listen, the point is," said Harry, "I think you could have done better. And I want to have this thing rewritten."

J.K. Rowling smiled. "Oh, but you see there is no need. For there is already another architect, one whose power surpasses my own now that I have stopped telling your story. They are the designers, they 

created the Snapetrix and they will be the ones who ultimately decide your fate. So," she held up a plate, "who wants biscuits?"

"That is blatant narcissism," said Ryxlar.

"And what of it? What is the point of messing with these mortals if you don't have a little fun?"

"You know, you keep contradicting yourself," he said. "One minute you're trying to maintain a story, the other you're writing about a talking pineapple again. And he's named Francoise."

"And what would the Goddess of Eccentricity be without contradictions?" Megara said in a huff. "Now come on, Ryxlar, we must perform our most sacred ritual."

And with that, the pair went on to perform the fish-slapping dance.


	4. Dirty Harry Dancing

**627 Points of Nonsense**

**A/N: **I can't help being random. It isn't in my nature to do so. And the one person who has the ability to tame my randomness is perfectly content to egg me on. So you shall have to deal with talking pineapples and other such amazing things.

**In A Different Vein…**

Megara was seated at the table, leaning on her palm. "You think I can't do it?" she was saying, staring pointedly at Ryxlar. "You think I can't turn your ideas into a story?"

"No. I know you can do it. Actually, I was just wondering if anybody else's brain would be able to handle it."

"You think they'll explode?" she asked, sitting upright.

"Possibly."

"Hmm…but brains are icky and gooey, and make a terrible mess when they explode." Megara sighed. "But I suppose we must take that chance. For the sake of randomness."

"Shove a banana up their tailpipe," said Ryxlar.

"Hmm?" Megara stared at him. "Haven't I heard that somewhere before?"

Ryxlar was quiet for a moment, then stood suddenly. "To the land of pie and applesauce! Away, Megara, away!"

And with that, a new chapter began to be written.

**Dirty (Harry) Dancing**

It was meant to be a family retreat. A beautiful summer vacation, away from all the darkness and despair and the evil penguin that had taken up residence in the downstairs cupboard. The Weasleys were thrilled to have Harry Potter along, as at this point he was practically a member of the family already. Harry, on the other hand, was experiencing major anxiety about the situation.

"Two whole months," he said, "two whole months with Ginny. Outside of Hogwarts. In a bikini. What am I going to do?"

"Absolutely nothing. Or have you forgotten that she's my sister?" said Ron, stroking his mustache menacingly.

"Oh. Right. So anyway," he turned to Hermione, "I was thinking. What if we end up…you know…wanting to take things to the next level?"

"What? You mean, getting a room on the second floor or something?" she said, blinking.

"No. You know…if we decide to do the horizontal mambo?"

"Erm, well, I don't know how much of a dancer you are, Harry. But if you want to take lessons…"

"Geez, Hermione, he wants to bone my sister," said Ron. "And I think he's a nasty little perv."

"Well, don't you want to….bone….me?" said Hermione.

"Ah. Ahem. Well, that's a different matter altogether," said Ron. "You aren't anybody's sister."

"……………you are such an idiot."

"Hello? People? I need advice."

"Well, don't you have a parental figure you can ask?" said Hermione.

"Uh, yeah, sure. I guess I can try."

Harry spent much of his first day at the camp seeking out advice from various adult-type figures on his imminent encounter with Ginny. His first attempt was Hagrid.

"Well, usually I try and find a bigger girl. No broken bones or anything like that. Then I get really hammered and wake up the next morning wondering what I did and why I'm wearing women's clothing. That help?"

Harry laughed nervously. "Well…you know, not really. I guess I just need to talk to more….yeah."

In running away he ended up bumping into the senile, emaciated and generally evil Grindelwald. "Oh, young Harry, I am hearing you are needing informations on the glorious arts of bedroom blisses," he said in a conspicuously Swedish accent.

"Well…you know, I don't really…"

"Dumblydory, come heres and lets give little Harrys a talk," he said, summoning over Dumbledore.

"So….well, then, I guess I just needed some input…Ginny and I have been together for a while and we were wondering…"

"You are wanting to knockses the bootses, yes?" said Grindelwald.

"Uh….well…"

Dumbledore smiled at Harry, reaching out to clap him on the shoulder. "Oh frabjous day! Calooh! Callay! Beware the jubjub bird and shun the frumious bandersnatch!"

"Well said, my lover," said Grindelwald. "I remember when we were young. Oh, love…before one or both of you turn evil and try to kill the otherses…"

"And the mome wraths outgrabe," said Dumbledore with a sad shake of his head.

Moving on, Harry found himself seated across from Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.

"You had a question, deary?" said Mrs. Weasley.

He stared at them for a full five minutes before saying, "Oh hell, I can't do this." He stood and ran, bumping into Ginny as he ran down the path heading away from her house.

"Hi, Harry. I've…missed you," she said. "You seem busy."

"I've been busy. You know, lots of you to do. I mean, things to do with your. I mean…I need to go, so I'll see you later. Okay?"

Seeing all this, Ron knew that it was once more time to sacrifice his luxurious mustache. Late that night he went out to the meadow, accompanied only by his mustache and Francoise the Talking Pineapple of Teleportation. And in the meadow he summoned forth the spirits…

Meanwhile, Dead Fred and George had made what they considered a very worthwhile contribution to the summer camp experience, and were waiting for the arrival of their heroes. They stood at the edge of the runs, and eventually a big yellow bus came sputtering along. A pair of men, one with a giant mustache and a beret and the other a shorter redhead in a leather jacket stepped off. The bus rolled on a little while afterward and suddenly and for no reason blew up.

"There goes another Mythbus," said Adam Savage.

"Ah. Well. We can make another one out of coconuts and gunpowder. It should work," said Jamie Hyneman.

They were the Mythbusters, those paragons of the virtue known as blowing stuff up in the name of science, and they had been summoned to what they thought was a Mythbusting Summercamp. Upon noticing the floating and decided not living form of Dead Fred, Adam let out a yell.

"Hey! You're a ghost! Myth confirmed!"

"I still say we should check him out." Jamie reached out and poked him, a shiver going down his spine.

"That tickled," said Dead Fred. "In spirit, anyway. Ha ha, in spirit, get it George?"

"It's good to know that being deceased has done nothing to dampen your spirits, dear brother," said George.

BA-DUM-KSH!

"Where did that guy with the drum kit come from?" said Jamie.

"O-o-o-oh, boy, you have a lot of myths to bust in our world," said Dead Fred.

Harry was lying awake in bed, staring at the bare ceiling and dreading the next time he would run into Ginny.

"Hey, look at that kid there. Looks like he needs a lift," said a voice.

"That's a bit crude, you know Padfoot. This is my son we're talking about. We need to be more stern, parental or whatever."

Harry sat up suddenly. "Who's there?"

Three ghostly figures surrounded him. They all looked to be in their early twenties, Lupin looking much younger than he had in life. James hovered close to him, scrunching up his nose.

"Now, how could this kid have any trouble? What a handsome young man!"

"I wouldn't listen to him," said the ghostly form of Sirius. "You should hear about all his failures before Lily came along."

"Unlike you, who had a new witch every Hogsmeade weekend, right Sirius?" said Lupin.

"Exactly. Let this kid talk to somebody who has experience."

"Okay," said Harry, "first of all, what the crap are you all doing here?"

"We've been newly resurrected, specifically for the purpose of getting you some action," said Sirius.

"You know, I'm really proud Harry. That Ginny is really cute. She's got kind of a small rack, but then again so did your mother. They're actually kind of nice, once you—"

"I do NOT want to hear that," said Harry.

"Oh, okay," said James, throwing his hands up. "So what is it you want to know?"

"Well…" Harry opened up the beside drawer and pulled out a long scroll. "I've written a list. Number one—where do babies come from?"

All three ghosts stared at Harry. "What?" said James.

"I was raised by the Dursleys and I went to a magic school. As far as I know they come from fairies sprinkling their magical sparkle dust in your eyes when you meet that special someone."

"Oh god, kid, do we have a lot to teach you."

Meanwhile, in her room Ginny was doing some thinking of her own. She knew that Harry was planning something, and she was in desperate need of help. But her mother would murder Harry more definitely than Voldemort ever could if she found out they were planning on…well, you know.

She needed somebody to talk to.

"You look like you need somebody to talk to," said a voice.

Ginny spun around in her chair to face the ghost of a beautiful redheaded woman. "You're Harry's mum!" she said.

"Yes, I am. The resurrected ghost of her, anyway. And from the looks of it, you seem to be having some problems. Tell me, are you and Harry going to have sex?"

"Oh, GOD!" Ginny shrieked. "I am NOT having this conversation with my boyfriend's dead mother."

"Oh, it isn't that big of a deal. You need somebody to talk to, I'm here. I remember what it was like to do that sort of thing back when I still had a body to do it. So tell me, sweetheart, what do you need to know?"

Back in the camp, Luna had had a brilliant idea. She was in the middle of watching Dead Fred and George assist the Mythbusters in blowing up a giant sausage in the middle of the courtyard.

"Oh! I know! Spam!" she cried out suddenly.

Running back into the main building, she began waving her arms and shouting 'SPAMALOT! SPAMALOT! I know what we need to do for our big end of summer show!" she cried.

"I'm guessing you want to put on a production of Spamalot?" said McGonagoll.

"Absolutely! And I want to start the casting NOW!"

As if by magic, every single person in the entire camp appeared in the main room. "You! Sir Robin!" she said, grabbing Ron forcefully and putting him in a green and white tunic.

"You are Lancelot! You can be King Arthur, Mr. Weasley! And you, you can be a Shrubbery!" she cried, pointing at Hermione.

Harry, surrounded by the marauders, was being counciled while he watched Luna make her casting decisions.

"You should start out with some practice, save the good stuff for the one you really want," said Sirius. "Look, she's hot."

"I'm in love with Ginny. Besides, that's a guy."

"Really?" Ghost Sirius looked closer. "Well, he's still kind of attractive."

"Don't listen to him, Harry. The closest relationship he ever had was with his mirror," said James. "It'll be great with Ginny. Just like it was with your mother. The first time we…"

"LAALALA I don't want to hear it!" shouted Harry, cramming his fingers into his ears.

"The pineapple will play the part of the coconuts!"

"Yay!" cried the pineapple. "I can make coconutty sounds! Clackity clackity clackity!"

"And the mythbusters will sing Always Look on the Bright Side of Life! Hermione, you can do the Silly Walks!"

"Isn't that from Monty Python's Flying Circus?" she said.

"Hagrid, you can do the dead parrot sketch!"

"Do I have to kill it, or do I play a dead parrot? These complicated plots really confuse me," he said grouchily.

"Ginny, it will be beautiful and special," said Lily, watching the chaos. "Use protection, and don't make me a grandma."

"And Harry and Ginny will do the Fish-Slapping Dance!" Luna cried out.

"……………well. That was subtle," they said in unison.

"Shall we?" said Harry, taking her hand. He pulled out a pair of sardines and, mincing back and forth, slapped her repeatedly with them.

Finally she pulled out a giant trout and whacked him over the head with it.

The marauders watched the entire thing silently.

"You know, that kid had the right idea," said Lupin after a while, "but I think he was off a bit on the mechanics."

"Ah well. Maybe that's how kids do it these days," said Sirius.

"Always look on the bright side of life, de doot, de doot de doot de doot….."

**Fin**


	5. Three Wizards and a Baby

**627 Points of Nonsense**

**A/N: **I am not as insane as you think I am. Well, that probably isn't true. To all of you who deserve an explanation, this story is kind of an exercise for me. I have wanted to be a writer for a very long time and I think that focusing so much on the business took the fun out of it for me…and this is bringing the fun right back, in a way that challenges by ability to make just about anything work ;)

**Three Wizards and a Baby**

"I think I'm going to try and break the mold, this time around," said Megara. She was curled up in front of her Wii, lazily playing a bowling game while she contemplated her horrific plans.

"How did you get a Wii?" asked Ryxlar, who hadn't been paying attention to a word she was saying.

"Hmm? Oh, Godzilla owed me a favor. It's good to have friends in Japan," she said, getting up and switching off the system. "Anyway, Ryxlar…Ryxlar, don't touch it! And stop drooling!"

"Sorry," he said, slowly prying his fingers off of the beautiful white plastic system. "You were saying?"

"I think I have a way of making the Harry Potter world even weirder," she said. "And it involves spoons."

Ryxlar raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

"Well, no. Maybe. If I can't think of anything better," she said with a shrug. And with that she readied herself to do her worst.

ooooooo

The Unplanned Pregnancy Center at Hogwarts was a little known and often overlooked segment of the school. Very rarely were their surges in the numbers of patients seen in the small clinic, and only on three occasions were there high enough numbers for there to be cause for concern. The first of these occasions was great Baby Boom of 1922, when Ardous Higglebotham, in a brave attempt at artificially impregnating a male dragon, unleashed a cloud of fertile vapors upon the Great Hall.

The sec ond surge took place shortly after the original Marauders left school, and was a direct result of the danger that seemed a daily threat to every student at the school.

The third surge was, however, the least easily explained, though it was widely accepted later that it all began when Professor McGonagoll had difficulties finding the spoon that went with her silver tea service.

In a huff, McGonagoll confronted Peeves the poltergeist in the hallway. But the ghost fervently denied taking the spoon, although he did admit to the removal of three pairs of women's panties, a copy of Playwizard that Filch had himself knicked from the Hufflepuff common room, and a pair of red stilettos that he believed belonged to Professor Flitwick.

Marching off, she didn't noticed Professor Snape coming toward her with a carefully balanced tray of potions. They bumped into one another and McGonagoll shrieked. Snape quickly righted the potions, which had spilled over slightly into one another, and glared at the Gryffindor Head of House.

"How I do love running into you, Minerva," he said.

"Yes, nice to see you again," his hair said greasily.

She huffed, straightening her robes and fixing her hair. "My, I am sorry Severus. I have been searching for my spoon. Have you seen it?"

"I have seen no spoons," he said, "although I would suggest checking to see if your dish is also missing. I have heard that the dish ran away with the spoon on a previous occasion."

"Oh! Absolutely! Why didn't I think of that?" she said. "Why…Snape, is that potion smoking?"

He glanced down at the potions on the tray he was holding. "Ah, yes. This is a fertilizer for Professor Sprout's garden. It should prove to make her Bumbledungins grow quite well. And this other potion is a stimulant I have created for myself. It will give me much needed vigor."

"I would rather not know why," said McGonagoll, leaving abruptly. Snape stared after her and finally went on his own way, dropping the potion off with the Herbology professor before making his way to the kitchens for a glass of pumpkin juice to mix the foul-tasting tonic into.

Dobby glanced up when he entered. "Is sir in need of refreshments?"

"Something to wash this down with, sir?" another house elf asked.

"Just the usual," said Snape acidly.

"Vodka?" asked the elf.

"Whatever. Just dump it in there and send it up with dinner," he said, turning on his heel and leaving.

Dobby gingerly picked up the flask and sniffed it.

"Sir pointed to soup, he did," said the female house elf. "We must put it in there."

"It smell bad," said Dobby. "And I don't think he said put it in the soup, Missy," he said.

"But…but he said so! Yes, he did!" the house elf darted out and grabbed it from Dobby, running to the large cauldron bubbling over the fire and pouring every last morsel from the flask into it.

"This is bad," said Dobby.

"Now we send it up!" she said.

oooooo

The entire Weasley clan, with Harry in tow, was gathered at Hogwarts for an announcement. Grindelwald had hinted that it was a very special occasion, and Harry himself had no doubt that, the way things had been happening lately, he was in for something of a surprise. The Mythbusters were there as well, as they had not yet found a bus suitable for getting them back to their shop that did not self-destruct at the slightest provocation.

Throughout the meal Grindelwald continued to allude to some grand scheme that he and Dumbledore had been concocting, while all Dumbledore would say is "Gire and gimble," and mutter something about "momewraths". Harry noticed the first sign that something was off when he tasted the soup and a strange tangy flavor assaulted it…it almost seemed to be the flavor of love. Sniffing the concoction, Hermione didn't even bother to taste it.

Later on, the two older men stood up and Grindelwald raised his hands for silence. "Attentions! May I have your attentions, puh-LEEZE! Dumblydodo and I have a much important announcement to be making! We have decided to become parents to some lucky, ooey-gooey, bouncing bundle of joy. We wantses to adopt a baby!"

"A baby?" everybody began to whisper at once. "Are they flipping serious?"

"A baby? Who would hand over their genetic material to those two?" said Ginny, shivering visibly.

"Whoever does it is going to have to be really, really desperate," muttered Harry.

Two months later, Draco Malfoy was staring in horror at the small item that was sitting on top of his bathroom counter. A small pink plus sign was glaring at him, a harsh signal that his life was about to drastically change.

In a daze he made his way downstairs, wondering how he could possibly be pregnant. Not only was he a virgin, he was fairly certain that he was male and such things were for the most part impossible.

"Dad? I need to tell you something." Draco sat down at the kitchen table next to Lucius Malfoy, who was making a gingerbread house replica of Hogwarts complete with miniature Death Eaters and a tiny Voldemort atop the highest tower.

"Have you killed somebody?"

"No, father."

"Well, why not?" said Lucius.

"Dad?" Lucius looked up at his son, who was even paler than usual. "I'm pregnant," he said, exhaling quickly.

He expected his father to scream, to curse, or at the very least to look very confused. But all Lucius did was put down what he was working with and gesture for Draco to sit down beside him. "Son, I should 

have told you this sooner, but it isn't something I wanted to worry about until you had fallen in love with that certain slimy someone."

"Dad? What are you telling me?"

"Well, Draco. A long time ago a curse was put upon this family by an evil gypsy woman. She said that forever after the men would be the mothers of the Malfoy line. I was the one to give birth to you, not your mother."

Draco stared at his father for a long moment. "Are you serious?" he said finally. "But how…"

"Well, it's a complex ritual, usually involving some sort of sacrifice and very specific potions."

"I hit a squirrel when I went plummeting to earth," said Draco, "after falling from my broomstick. And I was near Hogwarts that night so I had dinner there. Come to think of it, the soup did taste kind of lusty…"

"Well then, I guess I'm going to have to perform the Conceptious charm on you. It's the paternity tool of our world." Lucius raised his wand and poked Draco with it. A large window opened in the air around him and a visual of the night he had conceived opened up around him.

He was crouching behind a table, sneaking bites of dinner while trying not to be noticed by the large amount of people who severely disliked him. But his cover had been blown when Hermione Granger had passed closeby. "Mudblooooaaargh!" he had muttered, ending in a high piercing scream brought on by the chip still implanted in his head after he had been returned from the Snapetrix.

"Malfoy is here!" she had screamed. "GET HIM!" And then Kung Fu style the entire rest of the school had proceeded to attack him. When the image faded Lucius was shaking his head.

"I'm sorry son," he said, "but every one of the people who touched you, if they ate the soup, could be your baby daddy. Or mommy."

"So what do I do? I'm not ready to have spawn."

"Well…isn't Dumbledore looking to adopt? I bet the old geezer is loaded. You could definitely make a buck off that."

Draco stared sullenly at dear old dad. "Sell my baby? Is that even legal?"

"It isn't. But hey, Grindelwald was a mass murderer. I'm sure a human life is worth a measley thousand or so galleons."

"But I don't even know who the father is!" he said. I refuse to even consider this until I know that, at least."

"Hmm. Well, most magical paternity tests can only be done after the child is born. So we're in for a few months wait."

And so it passed that Draco Malfoy over time grew large and fruitful, filled with nature's wondrous miracle. He was miserable, and claiming that he had swallowed a handful of unidentified dust and was now infested with nargles was not going to keep lasting. Just the other day he had been down the way of Diagon Alley and an old witch had placed her hands on his stomach, telling him that the joys of motherhood would certainly make up for being such an ugly woman.

But he was coming to the end of his pregnancy. When the day finally came for the Malfoy-spawn to be born, a missive was sent out for every person who had touched him at the dinner party to meet at Hogwarts for a special 'bruncheon'.

The past several months had been terribly uneventful for most involved, and all were listening intently to Francoise's story about his date with a very sexy mango named Phyllis when Draco was wheeled into the room by a disturbed looking house-elf. Lucius followed them in, coughing to get their attention..

"As you can plainly see, my son has become a part of the miraculous circle of life. And one of you is the party responsible for putting him through his ordeal. The soup served at the dinner party several months ago was tainted with a potion making each of you a fertile ticking timebomb to my son. We will not leave this place until the donor is known."

"So…he gave birth? To an actual infant?" said Hermione, leaning forward to look at the squirming bundle in Draco's arms.

"Yes, isn't she adorable?"

"She?" Harry stared at the small pink baby. It was wrapped in fuzzy pink blankets and had curly blonde hair, as well as the makings of a very luxurious mustache. Ron tugged at his own mustache, blushing bright pink and shrinking back from Draco's dark glare.

"How the heck did you…"

"I'd rather we not discuss that," said Draco.

"But…I mean, is that—"

"Use your imagination. I can guarantee you that the truth is a thousand times worse," he said.

"All right, enough chit chat. We won't ever get paid if we don't figure out who this kid belongs to. Everybody, line up over here to submit a sample. A sample of your hair, Potter, don't give me that!" said Lucius.

Everybody did as they were told, each as curious as the other to find out how and why such a strange and disturbing thing could possibly have happened.

The wait was long and agonizing, and even Francoise's graphic description of how he and Phyllis had made fruit salad was not enough to distract them from the inevitable changing of somebody's life.

Finally Lucius emerged from the study with a scroll in one hand. He looked around at everybody and nodded at them. "We want you all to know that no matter what happens we hate and look down on all of you. We fully intend to sell this offspring to the highest bidder. With that being said, let's find ourselves a baby daddy."

He broke open the seal and looked at it for a long moment. "I have the results. Harry Potter…you are NOT the father!" The people broke into raucous cheering and Harry stood up quickly, raising both arms in a defiant gesture.

"Whoo, whoo!" cried out Ginny.

"And the results are…a tie!"

"What?" cried out Draco.

"There is not one but TWO fathers. And the test shows that they are Weasley and the mudblood!"

"What? NOOOOO!" screamed Ron, dropping to his knees.

"It couldn't be me, though!" said Hermione. "I didn't touch that soup!"

"What?" Lucius looked at the test. "You're right! It is you two, but relatives of you both. But…"

"I can explain." The Mythbusters stepped forward. Jamie removed his beret. "I should have told you sooner but now I have to. I am a distant relative of Hermione Granger, being descended from the same great-great-grandfather, whose youngest son fled to America in the early part of the century with the solemn dream of blowing stuff up. I am a wizard, and inherited the same gene for magic as my young British counterpart. How else do my shirts stay so clean, and my mustache so luxurious?"

"Yeah, and I can explain too. I'm a distant cousin of the Weasley family."

"Are you a wizard too?" said Harry.

"A squib. The only power I have is the ability to injure myself in as many idiot ways as possible without actually dying."

"Heh." The Mythbusters stood side by side, staring down at Draco and the child. They said nothing, and after a long moment heard a crack that meant somebody had arrived.

"Where is it? Where is young baby-poo? I wantses to sees it!" Grindelwald came tearing into the room and immediately plucked the baby from Draco. Dumbledore followed, wiping at his eyes. "And the momewraths outgrabe," he sighed.

"What are you going to name it?" asked Hermione.

"We have thoughtses long and hard," said Grindelwald. "And it was Albus-sweetypants who came up with something. We'll call her little Jabberwocky."

And so begins the story of Jabberwocky, the child with the most ill-concieved conception, the most disturbed parents, and the crappiest name ever to grace the world she was a part of.


	6. Sweeney Busters

**627 Points of Nonsense**

A/N: All right, so Ryxlar has been pushing me to do this one here for a while and since he's been a fairly good boy (and since I don't want to hear him whining anymore,) I present for your viewing pleasure...

**Sweeney Busters  
**

The Goddess of Eccentricity was rewatching the lastest movie that seemed to have crawled itself into her head, and having spent a great portion of the last several days deeply entrenched with studying for her Immortality Finals was ready for the relief that came of watching a deep and depressing movie with an overwhelmingly pessimistic ending. "You know, it's kind of wrong that a depressing movie should make me this happy," she said to Ryxlar, who was bravely trying to sing along with the characters.

Ryxlar shrugged. "We could always pop in a chick flick," he said.

Megara stared at him for moment before she burst out laughing. "Good one, Ryxlar," she said, "but I'd rather not stick my head in a tub full of butter to relieve the excruciating pain of watching estrogen-fueled brain botox."

"Brain botox?" asked Ryxlar.

"Duh," said Megara. "It smoothes out the wrinkles."

"So, what do you want to do, then?" As he said this they both turned to the cosmic television and then turned back to each other with twin grins that would have made a crocodile uneasy.

"Bingo," said Megara, as she began to rub her hands together and cackle.

The ship came into San Francisco bay through a looming fog, and the presence of something deeply disturbing seemed to linger in the air. It was a mime, who was quickly thrown overboard by a group of Norwegian tourists who wanted to see what an imaginary scuba tank looked like. Disappointed that all they saw was a cloud of bubbles, the tourists returned below deck. Meanwhile, a man leaned over the railing losing what was left of his lunch. "I have sailed the world and seen its wonders," he coughed between episodes, "from quite stupid myths to the myths I approve, but there's no place like Frisc-hack-cough-hack hack"

"No, there's no place like Frisco." Jamie appeared from beside him. "Seriously, have some ginger root."

"Why the hell did we come here by ship? When you know I get seasick? And WHY did we have to come all the way around Africa? What kind of sadistic bastard are you?"

Jamie grinned. "You are young. Ish. Life has been good to you. You will learn...I too have sailed the world and seen its wonders, for the stupidest of Myths are ones most of you approve, but there's no place like Frisco..."

They came into port and got off the ship. A conspicuous mass of Hogwarts students and teachers followed them. "Excuse me, Adam, my thoughts are far from easy," said Jamie. "You see...there was a Buster and his myths, and they were dangerous--a foolish Buster and his myths, and they were dangerous, and quite informative, and he was...naive..."

"There was another man who saw that they were dangerous, a pious vulture of the law, who with a gesture of his claw, removed the buster from his myths...and then so lost, so bored, the myths would fall..."

"And did they, sir? Are the myths still being busted?"

"Oh," said Jamie," that was many weeks ago. I doubt if anyone would know."

"You know," whispered Hermione in the background, "this seems to me to be a blatant ripoff..."

"Shh!" hissed Harry.

The Mythbusters made their way back to M5 through the dark streets of Frisco. Places were myths had once been busted had now fallen into disuse...abandoned hangars and wide open parking lots that were perfect for explosions now ignored. They were astonished to find that M5 was fallen to pieces, and all that remained was a handful of dust covered shelves were once overly organized boxes of assorted crap.

A woman with red hair looked up and gasped. "AH! A customer! WAIT, what's your rush what's your hurry, you gave me such a FRIGHT I almost thought you were a ghost..."

"Will she keep singing like that if we just ignore her?" muttered Adam.

"These are probably the WORST MYTHS in Frisco!" she wailed, gesturing to various charts that had been written up about whether banana peels were slippery or if it really hurt to stab yourself in the eye with a fork. "Ah, times is hard, times is hard..."

She finally wound herself down from singing and took a good look at them. "Would you like a drink?" she said. "Come on back."

"So," said Adam, after finally regaining his powers of speech after near continuous vomiting on the ship for the past several weeks. "If times is...are...so hard, why don't you rent out this ginormous shop?"

"Well, you see, there are people who say it's haunted. You see...there was a Buster and his myths, and he was careful, he always did things by the book, and not a risk was ever took, they weren't that dangerous..."

"Poor thing." She then proceeded to tell them the story of the judge who had sent the Mythbusters away, and what had happened afterwards when the judge sent for the mythbuster's things in order to search through them. The canisters of paint from the dynamite house painting myth had gone off and left a great majority of Jamie's shirts stained beyond repair.

"NOOOOOO!" he cried.

"I knew it was you! Jamie Hyneman!"

"No! I'm Sweeney Hyneman! And he shall have his revenge?"

Adam coughed. "Was that question mark supposed to be there?" he whispered.

"No. Typo. Don't know why it was left in," he muttered back.

Carrie led him to the back of the shop, where she pulled open a shelf and removed a rusty, dusty, box. "I kept them hidden so he didn't take them when he came for the myths."

"These are my friends..." Sweeney Hyne...oh crap, we're just going to call him Jamie. His last name is a bitch to write out.

"You need to spend time out of the shop, dude," said Adam.

At this moment, as Jamie sung sorrowfully to his tools and Adam snickered in amusement, Carrie was eyeing the gang of witches and wizards that had stowed along for the trip. She froze when she saw Harry, holding her hand over her heart. "It's you!" she cried out, rushing forward.

Harry was deeply confused for several moments until he realized that, in her excitement, Carrie's hair had mutated from it's deep shade of red to a vibrant purple. "Tonks? Is that you?"

"Oh Harry, you have no idea how excited I am to see you! I fled London when Remus died, never thinking any of you would ever see me. In my shame..." she turned away from them. "For you see, it's because of my that Remus died..."

"Oh really now, Tonks, I wouldn't say that." Remus' ghost appeared from the throng, followed closely by those of James and Sirius.

"Remus? Darling? Wolfykins? What are you doing here and only semi-dead?"

"Well, it's a long story involving Ron's mustache, a gallon of scotch and the willingness of two adolescent boys to dance around naked in a field."

"Not an important story, really," said Harry. "What I really want to know is what happened to make you dead? I never really did get the entire story."

Remus sighed, as best as a ghost could sigh. "Well, you see, it happened like this. I was making my way to Africa to meet the head of a tribesman who, it was said, had dealt with the ravenous Pigbeast of Utagutagu, which many said was really a Werepig. In hopes of finding a solution to my plight, being a werewolf and all, I decided to visit the village elder. But in my journey I became dreadfully lost."

"And...you died in the wilderness?"

"No, love," said Remus grimly, patting Tonk's hand. "I was attacked."

"By a lion? A wildebeest? Hyenas? Ostriches?"

"No, alas my love. It was an evil giraffe."

Tonks stared at him for a long moment. "An evil herbivore? What possibly could it do? Eat more leaves than it should so that other giraffes may die?"

Remus stared back at her. "You ripped that off," he said. "No, this giraffe covered itself in double sided tape and flung himself at me, then jumped into a puddle of quicksand. It was itself saved from death as the sand reached only to the middle of its neck'

"Quite clever!" chimed in the talking pineapple.

"Oh my god! A talking pineapple!" said Tonks.

"My name is Francois," said the pineapple.

"Why, you are quite the clever talking pineapple," she said. "Tell me, have you ever thought about having a mechanical body made for yourself? I could build you one, one that runs entirely on magic."

And with that Tonks became fast friends with Francois.

The next day, the group found themselves making their way over to M7, where an Italian by the name of Phoni Baloni had set up shop to sell his wares. A small Asian man was standing out front. "Ladies and gentleman, may I have your attention puh-LEEZE! Do you wake every morning in so much confusion to find out your favorite myth was an illusion? Well, I have a solution!" He began passing out something called Baloni's Mythbusting Elixer, and singing about its wonders.

"Smells like feet and toothpaste," said Jamie, "or perhaps lavender with a little sprinkle of raunch halitosis."

"WHO SAYS THIS?!" A tall man in blue spandex came out, waving a pointless came. "I'm the famous Baloni, the Myth among Busters, the Buster of myths, a bongiorno Good Day, I blow you a kiss...and I, this-a famous Baloni a wisha to know who has-a the nerv-a to saaaaaayy...my elixer is Raunch Halitosis...I wish-a to Knowsis..."

"I do." Jamie stood up. "And I wager these tools that I can bust a myth quicker and more completely than you."

"Ooh! A contest," said Adam. "Why don't you build a hovercraft?"

"How about we prove magic is real?" said Jamie, staring down Baloni.

"A-HA! Such a silly man! What a quick-a myth to bust-a..." He pulled out a large sheet of blueprint paper, and began singing as he pulled out tricks and treats, tarot cards and other such things."

"Silencio," said Jamie, waving an unusual looking metal rod he had pulled out of his toolkit.

The crowd cheered as Baloni was no longer able to sing.

"All right, you realize that was Tory don't you?" said Tonks.

"Yeah. Why do you think I only shut him up?" he said.

Putting a leash on Tory, they dragged him home. Tonks launched herself at Grant, squealing 'MY BABY!'

This seemed quite to everybody but the pair themselves, and as they made their way home this odd occurrence was explained.

"So...Grant Imahara is really Teddy Lupin? You mean he's my godson?" He looked over at the man, who was building a robot to be used in some sort of battle type competition. "Is he...a squib?"

Tonks shook her head. "A robot saved his life a year ago when we first came to Frisco, and since then he's been so in love with them that it seemed a shame to me to make him think that there was something unexplainable in the world. Oh he knows magic all right, he knows that's why he's aged three decades in just a few months, but he thinks it all has something to do with Quantum Physics."

"But Quantum Physics can't explain everything," said Hermione.

"WHAT DID YOU SAY? YOU TAKE THAT BACK! HOW DARE YOU SAY THAT! QUANTUM PHYSICS DOESN'T LOVE YOU AS MUCH AS IT LOVES ME AND YOUR JEALOUS!"

"I love you, son," said Lupin, floating over.

"AH! A ghost!"

"Your dad," said Tonks encouragingly.

"I...huh...I DON'T NEED A DAD! QUANTUM PHYSICS IS THE ONLY FATHER I'LL EVER NEED!!"

"Just be patient. Somebody challenged his sense of reason. Just don't try and say anything about the r-o-b-o-t-s..."

"But aren't the robots a little silly?" Hermione whispered.

Grant shrieked like a girl and went to cradle his Battlebot, as Remus whistled and tried to ignore Jame's pointed gesturing at Harry.

Meanwhile, over on his side of Frisco, the judge that had caused this mess was relaxing in his library. Wormtail was seated near to him, nervously twitching as he generally did when he had nothing else to do.

"I'm quite bored," he said. "It's not as much fun scheming when you have nobody to enact your evil plans upon," he sighed.

It was Professor Snape, though he looked quite different than usual. His hair was not greasy and cut much shorter than it had ever been before, and had gone gray. Having tired of being under the command of his evil hair and wanting to escape the demons of his past and terrorize other people, on a different shore, he had opted to come to San Francisco.

He had found himself something quite useful to do, and had shut down the operations of the Mythbusters just because he didn't like the idea of learning and knowledge so close to his home.

But that was soon to change, and Snape found himself on this day in desperate need of a myth to be busted. So, at Wormtail's advice he left his house and made his way to M5, where quite a few people who didn't like him were waiting...

As he opened the door a large bucket of paint flew towards him.

"Hey! You ruined my good shirt!" cried out Snape.

"My slave!" Snape's hair cried out, having stowed away. It launched itself at him and missed, landing instead on top of Francois the talking, teleporting pineapple which had recently been given a body by Tonks.

"A ha! I will kill you all!" the mobile pineapple now possessed by Professor Snape's hair cried out.

"Well. That didn't work out as I had planned," said Jamie.

"No. No, it didn't," said Adam.

"Want to go back to London?"

"NOT BY SHIP!" cried out Adam.

"That's all right." He pulled out a doorknob. "This should take us right back in a jiffy." Turning the doorknob, he opened a great black door, and they all left Frisco forever.

"That was interesting," said Megara. "I'm a little disturbed."

"Yeah." Ryxlar stared. "Yeah."

"Now I'm afraid of pineapples," she said.

"Yeah. And of men in berets."

"Yeah."

"Yeah."


	7. Iron Chef: Hogwarts

**627 Points of Insanity**

A/N: I am enjoying my slow and steady progression into the realm of insanity from which there is no escape. That being said, I am also starting to feel somewhat like a section of my brain is on crack and has forgotten to tell me. Nevertheless, I am enjoying this muchness and I shall gladly continue. Until I take over the world! AHA! VICTORY WILL BE MINE!

**Iron Chef: Hogwarts**

Having recently returned from San Francisco and subsequently erased the remaining memory from his mind, Harry had nothing much to do. What with the demise of Voldemort and the disappearance of all Hair-Induced evil for the time being, spending time around the Weasley house had become something of a bore. Hermione spent most of her time attempting to interesting Ron in muggle literature, but the effort had taken a detour when Ron commented that Shakespeare would have been a lot more interested if more things had blown up. With the Mythbusters in hearty agreement, Hermione had gone off to find somebody who appreciated her overwhelming intellect, while Ron had gone off to find somebody who could remove large books from uncomfortable places.

Ginny might have made passing the time much easier, but lately Mrs. Weasley had been suspiciously present when the young lovers had spent time with one another. Most suspiciously was how an entire wall had disappeared from Ginny's bedroom. Whistling as she sidled away, Mrs. Weasley blamed the incident on the nargles.

However, Harry knew for a fact that the nargles were still under Luna's command, and the giant video camera that now pointed directly into Ginny's bedroom had convinced him that his girlfriend's mother was trying to keep the young lovers from loving each other a little too well.

"The woods, Harry. That's all I'm saying," said the ghost of Sirius Black.

"Hey, now don't give the boy ideas. Girls need the mood, the romance. Candles, chocolates..."

"Booze?" said Remus.

"...who the hell ever told you that?" said Sirius.

"You did."

"Oh. Right."

"It's not important," said Harry. "I have...other plans."

"Way to go, tiger," said James, giving his son the thumb's up. "And...uh...I know this is a bit strange, but think you could give me the 411? I haven't touched a woman in--"

"Okay, that's very eew," said Harry. "Please don't finish that statement.'

"Son, I've been dead for over twenty years," said James. "You gotta imagine a man's desperate. Right Sirius?"

"Hmm? Ah, well, I had enough tail while I was alive. The memories will carry me through," he said with a wistful sigh.

"And you Remus?"

The ghostly figure shrugged. "Well, I've only been dead a year, so Tonks and I--"

"Really. Eew," Harry muttered.

He left the ghosts arguing among themselves and wandered downstairs. Mrs. Weasley was darting in a panic around the kitchen. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"No time to speak! I very very late! Harry, oh Harry, I haven't time to make dinner! What ever will I do?"

"What's going on Mrs. Weasley?" he asked, observing that she was dressed in a giant lobster suit.

"Oh, I forgot! Every third Wednesday of every forth month at exactly 8:39 PM I meet with a group of friends from school and we reenact the most wonderful Red Lobster dinner that we ever had! Oh, and this year it was my turn to be the main course!" she said. "But I can't leave this house without leaving something for you all to eat!"

Mr. Weasley walked in then, dressed as a shrimp. "Come on love, we're going to be late," he said, looking down at his watch.

"Oh, dear! Oh dear!"

"I can make something. I used to cook when I lived with the Dursleys," he said. "And if I have any trouble I'm certain Ginny can help me!"

"Not with that twelve-foot barrier I put on her this morning," she said airily. "But oh well, I suppose I haven't any choice. If you feel up to it go ahead, but Arthur and I really must be going."

And so they went on their merry, crustacean ways, and Harry settled down in the kitchen. Though it had been quite a while since he'd made anything he found that it came quite naturally to him, and before long he was tossing and stirring, flipping and frying with the greatest of ease. Even Hermione was forced to come down and ooh and ahh with the others, as the glorious scent of Potter Cuisine pervaded the air. When dinner was served the fold descended upon it like the most ravenous of beasts.

Dead Fred watched morosely as his brother chowed down on Parmesan Crusted Chicken, and the Marauders in particular hovered above the table trying to catch ethereal whiffs of the food.

"Damn, boy, I don't know where you got that from," said James. "Your mother once destroyed half of the neighborhood trying to boil an egg."

"It was the one time," said Lily, "and I didn't see you going to take cooking lessons either."

The two continued to squabble, while in the midst of the distraction Ron attempted to stuff as many cream pastries into his cheeks as possible until he began to resemble an overgrown, pale and freckled chipmunk.

The entire house was quiet when Mr. and Mrs. Weasley returned home, and after a moment of searching everybody was found collapsed around the dining room table, in varying states of undress due to the sudden tightening of their pants.

"Are they dead?" said Mrs. Weasley.

"No. Stuffed." Harry came around the corner. "It turns out they liked what I made pretty well, after all. In fact, Ron said mine was the best meal he's had since he left Hogwarts.

"I-uh-WHAT?"

Harry nodded. "In fact, he wants me to cook more often now. So you don't have to do everything anymore Mrs. Weasley. Isn't that great?"

"DUCK AND COVER!" shouted Mr. Weasley, falling to the floor.

Seeing her face redden, Harry suddenly began to realize that something he had said might not have been appropriate.

"THIS CANNOT BE! I REFUSE TO BELIEVE THAT SOME SKINNY BRAT COULD POSSIBLY RIVAL MY COOKING! CHALLENGE! CHALLENGE!" she pointed the finger of challenge at him, and much like the finger of accusation it was quite pointy. "I challenge you to a duel in Kitchen Stadium!"

She removed her giant lobster glove and slapped him across the face. "It will be held at this time tomorrow. We shall then see who is the better chef!"

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Kitchen Stadium was packed from roof to rafter with an odd assortment of characters come to see the legendary battle. As Harry and Mrs. Weasley readied for battle in the Arena, Grindelwald was welcoming the guests as commentator of the match.

Acting as Chairman, Draco Malfoy was wearing a sparkly purple tuxedo and doing acrobatics as he waited for the battle to begin.

Meanwhile, the three judges were seated comfortably nearby, talking amongst themselves. In the first chair was Hagrid, who was already most of the way through his third jug of whiskey. Seated beside him was a Swedish Chef, who was talking animatedly to those around him in some sort of language that was probably Swedish except it sounded more like somebody had caught their tongue in a blender. In the last spot was Mrs. Lovett, of Mrs. Lovett's Meat Pies. Needless to say, the audience was somewhat nervous on noticing this last addition.

"All right!" The noise settled down. "As both of you wish to do battle, I have chosen an Iron Chef to help you both in your quest to crush the competition. Today, Harry Potter will be joined by the host of Dinner: Impossible!"

"Code name, Agent Double-O Tasty," said a man as he dropped down from the ceiling on a wire.

"I'd rather not call you that," said Harry uncomfortably.

"And Molly Weasley, you will be joined by that wonderful host of Hell's Kitchen, Gordon Ramsey!"

"Pleased to meet you!" she said, extending her hand to the man who walked out.

"&#gte#& likewise."

"HOW RUDE!" Mrs. Weasley gasped.

"And now, the rules. You have an hour to prepare at least three dishes to be judged by our esteemed panel, using our secret ingredient. Today, that secret ingredient is...PINEAPPLE!"

"Oh, well. That's not ominous in the least," said Harry.

Meanwhile, in the back of the stadium, wearing a long jacket to hide his robotic limbs, Francois was watching the proceedings with a measure of disgust. "Mon, that isn't right," he said.

"Tell me about it," muttered back Professor Snape's Hair. "What are we going to do about it?"

"What do you think, mon?" Francois replied. "I have to stop this. Make a statement. Do a little dance, make a little love."

"Get down tonight?"

"All right, mon, now you're just turning things perverse."

A little girl sitting nearby poked her mommy. "Mommy, that man with the pineapple-shaped head is talking to his icky, greasy, hair."

"Don't be silly," said the girl's mother. "His head looks more like a Kumquat to me."

Mr. Kumquat overheard this statement and a tear rolled down his face. After all, it wasn't his fault that he'd been cursed at birth with an oddly shaped cranium. On that note, he had recently written a book about the misfortunes of trying to find love when one's head is fruit-shaped, and in turn had found love with a woman whose head greatly resembled a coconut.

It is of course the nature of love to be tragic more often than it is peaceful, and Mr. Kumquat was currently mourning the loss of his beloved Coconut head. On a cruise across the Atlantic she had met and fallen in love with a handsome young man with a nose like a turnip. The last he'd ever heard of her was a letter she'd sent, explaining that she would always love him.

But poor Coconut Head hadn't expected that when she decided to settle down in Hawaii it was only going to be a matter of time before the locals harvested her. Now, as far as he knew, she was collecting dust in a closet somewhere as part of a hula costume for drunken frat boys.

Mr. Kumquat was so lost in his memories that he didn't notice the beginning of the battle.

Mrs. Weasley pulled ahead quite early on, leaving Harry wondering what to do with the fruit as Agent Tasty began use his special secret agent gadgets to blow the pineapples into bits and slice them into rings. "Come on, think quick Agent Potter. Agent Tasty needs to know what to do."

"You bother me," said Harry.

"Psst." Dead Fred floated over to where Harry stood. "You know, if you really need help I have a suggestion. Dumbledore was a trained chef you know."

"What's he going to tell me? To fillet the momewraths and outgrabe the sausage?"

"No. Listen, I have an idea about getting him to speak normalish again. Leave it to me and George."

He disappeared again, and after hearing the high-pitched shriek of a man who'd been attacked by an octopus, though how Harry recognized this particular shriek he'd never know, Dumbledore disappeared.

"Pineapple Upside-Down Cake. Serves eight, preparation time fifteen minutes. Baking time thirty minutes."

"Erm. Professor?"

"Ingredients. Four cups all-purpose flour. Two cups granulated sugar..."

As Dumbledore began reciting, Harry grabbed the ingredients he was naming. He soon realized that rather than recite Jabberwocky, Dumbledore could now only speak the lines from cookbooks.

"Pour batter into greased pan and bake at 350 for thirty minutes, or until golden-brown. A toothpick inserted into the center will come out clean when done."

"Oh Dumbledorsey, you are so talented, yeses you areses!"

"Sweet Dumplings. Serve two," said Dumbledore suggestively.

"That shouldn't be so wrong," said Ron.

"And yet, it was," Hermione replied.

Mrs. Weasley, seeing that Harry was recieving outside help, took it upon herself to distract Dumbledore from what he was doing. She flicked her wand and Grindelwald's robes dropped down to reveal that he wore shimmering purple boxers underneath. "Heat oven to five-hundred degrees," said Dumbledore with a wink.

"Oh. God. Eew." The audience shivered in unison. Mr. Kumquat shed a tear.

Meanwhile, on Mrs. Weasley's side she was having trouble communicating to Gordon Ramsey.

"&5# pineapples +&# & pie &#&# ham and &#&# ice cream."

Mrs. Weasley smacked him across the knuckles with her rolling pin. "What rude language! How dare you speak that way!"

"I'm so &#&# &#&#&#&#&#( sorry."

By the time the hour was up, both competitors were exhausted, and yet both had managed to finish the dishes they'd set out to make. Agent Tasty rapelled down with a tray for the judges as Harry, annoyed, snipped the cord with a pair of kitchen shears. Agent Tasty crashed to the ground and lay there unconscious, as Harry stepped over his unconscious form to accept the judges opinion.

"The first dish is a Pineapple-Upside Down cake, with a fifth of Irish whiskey thrown in for good measure. I've also put a smiley face on it, because it's happy to see you."

"Wonderful, Harry! Could use more whiskey!" said Hagrid, downing the entire thing.

"Borgadorgaburgadorgamorgaborgadurga BORK BORK BORK!" said the Swedish Chef.

"I thought it was rather nice. Tell me love, is that a little priest I taste in there?"

"Uhm...no?"

"Oh, well. Priest is rather subtle, so I almost thought...well, it would have done well with a bit of vicar too, I thought, but it's perfectly lovely my dear."

The judging went on in much the same vein for Harry's other two dishes.

Mrs. Weasley then stepped up with her Iron Chef, whose mouth was now filled with a large bar of soap.

"Needs ale," slurred Hagrid, before the judging even began, slumping over in his seat and beginning to snore.

"Durgaborgadorgadorga BORK BORK BORK!" said the Swedish Chef.

"Come now, that isn't even really Swedish," she said in irritation.

"Oh, but it ises!" Grindelwald came over to the Swedish Chef. "Duergaborgadorgaborga?"

"Borgadorgaborgaborgen!"

"Dorgaborgamorgaborgendorg!

"BORK BORK BORK!" said Grindelwald, wiping away tears from his eyes. "Oh yeses, and a funny fellow he ises, too!"

"As for this pudding, love, I really think you could have used a little more grocer in it. Have you ever though about setting up your own Barbershop upstairs?"

"I'm really not comfortable with that idea," said Mrs. Weasley, backing slowly from her.

The time had finally come for the judging. Mrs. Weasley and Harry stood next to each other, waiting in anticipation, while Ginny stood twelve feet away as the spell her mother had put on her kept her from coming any closer to her boyfriend.

"A TIE!" said Draco enthusiastically.

"Oh, good for both of youses!" said Grindelwald, holding little Jabberwocky in his arms.

"Baste overnight. Then drain," said Dumbledore, shaking both of their hands.

Harry began to edge away when he noticed the bright glint in Mrs. Weasley's eyes. Before he could escape she threw herself at him, holding him tight.

"Oh, dear boy, I finally know you are good enough for her! Even more than defeating the Dark Lord, this proves you to be a Weasley by right! I'm taking off the spell on Ginny immediately. In fact, how would you like to share a room?"

Harry gulped.

"Oh, I'll go and buy my girl some lingerie tonight. And Harry, how would you like to buy some new underpants? I wash your laundry, I know you've been under the curse of the gray and dingy tighty whities!"

"Dear God," said Harry. He would have killed himself at that very moment but Francois interrupted the celebration. A legion of talking, robotic pineapples swarmed in and began to attack the crowd.

"RISE, NARGLES!" shouted Luna.

And the clash began, a clash which I shall not write about here today because everybody escaped alive and it is far too silly to go on about.


End file.
